


Flipping Prince Charming the Bird

by scarletalphabet



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Ladies Kicking Ass, Possibly Triggering, Stalker Alert, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletalphabet/pseuds/scarletalphabet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy has the situation well in hand by the time that Sif arrives but is determined to not let her trip to Earth go to waste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flipping Prince Charming the Bird

**Author's Note:**

> My first MCU fic so hopefully I haven't taken too many liberties with the way things work. But it's fanfiction so naturally some liberties are taken.

Darcy sighed and checked her phone, not even bothering to hide it behind her program. Of course this conference had to be in bumfuck nowhere. Of course Jane was too busy with some groundbreaking something or other and insisted that Darcy attend in her place. She checked again. Fifteen minutes before she could beat a hasty retreat to the hotel bar, such as it was. Sitting alone and drowning her boredom in beer wasn't her idea of a perfect Friday night, but it was either that or the 24 hour Wal-Mart. Jane was footing the bill for most of the costs of attending, but Darcy figured that pay-per-view porn probably didn't qualify as a legitimate cost. Not that she had any interest in seeing yet another groaning balding man pounding away at a barely legal woman who moaned deliriously with every thrust. There were some fine-looking bald gentlemen to be sure, but nobody got into mainstream porn to show off their acting skills. Darcy let her thoughts wander on the subject of attractive older actors, only to be jolted back to reality by the sound of thunderous applause.

She jumped to her feet seconds behind the other audience members, clapping enthusiastically and looking for all the world like she thought the speaker deserved a standing ovation for his tired jokes and monotonous technobabble. Grateful that the only seats left when she had arrived had been near the back, she turned to leave as the applause died down.

“Darcy Lewis?” a voice called.

She stopped in her tracks and spun around. A man was standing behind her, smiling like she was expected to know who he was. Darcy looked him up and down, noting his wrinkled business suit and the slight stubble darkening his face. Not S.H.I.E.L.D. then. Despite her rocky introduction to that organization, she had to admit that they knew how to dress sharp. Didn't look like your garden variety law enforcement professional either. “How do you know my name?” she asked warily.

“You work for Jane Foster, right?” he responded.

Darcy nodded, waiting for him to provide a real explanation.

“We worked together on a project several years back,” he finally explained. “We still keep in touch a bit.” He pointed at her shirt and added, “And the name tag helped.”

Darcy looked down and blushed. “Right, there is that,” she mumbled. “However you seem to have misplaced yours.”

“Sean Levitt,” he said, holding out his hand to shake hers.

Darcy shook his hand as briefly as politeness would allow. Something about him set every alarm blaring on her weird detector. Not her good “people are quirky and interesting” weird detector but her bad “what the fuck is going on here” weird detector. “Well Sean Levitt,” she stated slowly, “I'm sure that Jane will be sad to have missed you. I'll remember to pass along your regards. Unfortunately I've got a...thing to do, so yeah, gotta run.” She left the room as nonchalantly as possible, not truly relaxing until she had walked up two flights of stairs and rounded the corridor to her hotel room. “What a stalker,” she muttered, sliding the keycard into the door. “Probably has a shrine to Jane in his creepy lair.”

She undressed, kicking her shoes off and haphazardly tossing her business attire, which ended up landing scattered about on the spare bed, the lamp, and the television. She fell down on the bed, landing with an exhausted thump. “About freakin' time,” she muttered. Before she could remind herself that a nap at 5pm was probably a bad thing, the unusually comfortable pillows dragged her into sleep.

********

Darcy awoke with a start. “Don't tell me it's tomorrow already,” she whined, turning over to check the clock. “Oh good. 8pm.” She blearily stumbled through getting herself ready for the evening, fixing makeup that had gotten smudged during her unintentional nap. Yesterday's soft taco leftovers found their way into the suite's microwave. Drinking on an empty stomach was never a good idea, and the bar's meager selection of desiccated or fried and greasy meat didn't hold the slightest appeal. Guacamole on the other hand, that was always a good choice. She patted the pocket of her jeans to make sure that she had her room key. One good point in the hotel's favor (besides its oddly luxurious pillows) was that its attached bar meant that she could charge things to her room and not have to worry about carrying money around.

The hallway leading to the bar was decorated in blinking red, white, and blue lights meant to celebrate the upcoming July 4th holiday, or perhaps still lingering after Memorial Day. Their twinkling left Darcy feeling less patriotic and more like she was handcuffed in the back of a police cruiser again. The letterboard outside the entrance to the bar loudly proclaimed “KARAOKE NIGHT 9-12.” That could either be epic or awful. Possibly both.

The first guy up to the mic wasn't half bad. His rendition of “Folsom Prison Blues” had a surprisingly rich tone that belied his mousy appearance. Darcy found herself tapping her fingers on her beer bottle in time with the bass line. When the song wound down she took a look around the room. Most of the people in the bar looked vaguely familiar from the conference, but there were a handful of people who looked like regulars, chatting with the bartender like they were old friends. As the night wore on the karaoke machine was used with varying success. At one point Darcy was genuinely worried that a woman's screeching version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” would shatter every glass in the bar. It had been proven on Mythbusters after all, even if crystal was a far cry from recycled beer bottle glass.

“Going to give it a go?” a familiar voice called.

Darcy turned around slowly, knowing who she'd find. “Hello again Sean,” she said, projecting an entirely false sense of cheeriness at seeing his face again. She looked him up and down, hoping that her gaze wouldn't be mistaken for one of interest. Well he didn't seem to be overtly drunk or crazy, that was something at least. “No, I think I'm good,” she told him, hoping that he'd get the hint. “I'd rather watch.”

“Oh really now?” he joked, any attempt at humorous innuendo coming out as uncomfortably lecherous.

“Where the hell is Thor when you need him?” Darcy muttered. She was perfectly capable of getting along without him of course, but one good hammer swing would solve a lot of her current problems. Darcy breathed in deeply, bracing herself to be as firm with the guy as necessary. It wasn't that she was afraid of confrontation (sometimes it was quite the opposite) but rather that she just didn't feel like expending the energy to deal with someone who didn't get the message the first time. Or the second. Darcy looked up from her pondering to see that Sean had moved a little too close for comfort. “Woah dude,” she said, alarm clear in her voice. She mentally ran through the mishmash of self-defense skills that she had learned, hoping that something useful had stuck. “I don't know why you think we're friends just because you worked with Jane once, but I'm only going to say this one more time. Back. Off.”

Sean made the mistake of stepping just one foot closer, and Darcy jumped at him. She reached for his right arm and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to the ground with a thud. Before she could even say a word the clatter of the bartender's boots heralded his arrival, evidently drawn by Sean's yelp of pain. “Are you alright?” the bartender asked.

“No,” Sean groaned, still dazed by the blow.

“Not talking to you,” the bartender growled. He looked at Darcy with a soft but inquisitive smile. “Want me to call somebody?”

Darcy worried her lip as she considered her answer. While Sean's behavior was teetering on the edge of abusive stalker, getting the police involved didn't seem worth her time. She'd prefer to never see him again and have that be that. A word of warning to Jane in case she actually was in contact with him and they'd likely not cross paths again anyhow. Darcy shook her head as she turned to the bartender. “I don't think so,” she said at last, sitting back down. “Just put him out with the rest of the trash.”

“Fair enough,” he replied with a shrug. “If you need anything though, the name's Darwin.”

Darcy smiled and turned back to her glass, the bartender disappearing with a firm grip on Sean's arm. “What a night,” she grumbled, still shaking with nervous energy. “Not the kind of excitement I was looking for.” One more gulp and she vowed to have at least a little fun. Maybe she could be persuaded to do a little karaoke. Before she could ponder the persuasive powers of one Jack Daniels the door to the bar swung open with a bang, bouncing off of the rubber doorstop.

“My apologies,” called a voice that Darcy hadn't heard in ages.

“Sif?” Darcy asked, hardly believing her eyes. Very few people owned that kind of outfit, much less walked into a bar wearing it.

“My lady!” Sif called, striding over to Darcy's table.

“Knock it off with the 'my lady' stuff,” Darcy muttered. “Doesn't mean the same thing around here. People might get the wrong idea.” Darcy's eyes subconsciously flicked up and down...well, she wouldn't mind getting the wrong idea. Or being given the wrong idea. She dragged her train of thought back to Sif's unexpected presence. “If you'll excuse the line, what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?” she asked, unable to stop herself. It had absolutely nothing to do with her ability to finally relax and enjoy herself and her sudden impulse to investigate Asgardian lingerie. She felt a twinge of shame at her mood improving so quickly after dealing with Sean, but stamped it out. Everybody handled things differently and if she felt like moving on, that was her right.

“The line?” echoed Sif, her head cocked in puzzlement.

Darcy had to restrain a chuckle at how much Sif looked like a confused puppy. Yes, her night was definitely looking up. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“As you say,” Sif replied, still puzzled but apparently willing to take Darcy at her word. “As to why I am here, Heimdall caught your plea for Thor, but he is currently occupied.”

“Plea,” Darcy repeated, feeling the heat of a embarrassed blush rising on her face. “I wouldn't call it a plea. More of a offhand comment.”

“Nevertheless,” Sif countered, “Heimdall thought it would be best if someone dropped by, and I was the nearest available person on whom he could call. You have many friends on Asgard my—” she stopped and shook her head “—Darcy. My apologies. I will endeavor to address you in the manner which you have requested.”

“As you can see, I handled it,” Darcy explained. Part of her wanted to feel annoyed that Big Brother Asgard was listening, but part of her was glad that they had been in case things had gotten worse. “But thank Heimdall next time you see him, will you?” she added hurriedly, not wanting to appear rude. If she hadn't been in public she might have pinched herself to try and snap out of this unusual streak of shy and hesitant behavior. Not talking wasn't usually her problem. She looked from the bar to Sif and back. “Since you're here though, ever tried any Midgardian ale? Not that some of that swill deserves the name, and I guess that ale is a specific type of beer, but my point remains. They do serve some interesting cocktails if you're feeling more adventurous.” Rambling again...this was familiar ground.

Sif looked up as if contemplating her choice, but came to a quick decision with a smile. “I do not have anywhere to be at present,” she said. “Given Asgard's increasing concern about and involvement with your realm it does present itself like a perfect opportunity to engage in some of...what do you scientists call it...field research? I am sure that it would beneficial to any future interactions with your people to have a greater base of knowledge of local culture to draw upon. Who knows how important such information could prove in the future?”

“Sounds like a Grade A bullshit excuse to me,” Darcy said gleefully, clapping Sif on the shoulder. Sliding out from the small table's booth she made her way to the bar. “What'll it be?” she called over her shoulder.

“I shall leave that decision in your capable hands” Sif replied.

“Surprise you it is,” Darcy declared. “Be careful what you wish for.”

********

An hour later Darcy had a fleeting thought about how unfair it was that she had a head start on an unintentional drinking contest. Although was it still a head start if it was a contest that she was bound to lose? She shook her head, nearly falling off of her seat. Too much thought required. She stole another glance at Sif, whose eyebrows were currently arched in what looked like subtle interest about what was happening on the karaoke stage. A different kind of singing than that which accompanied drinking on Asgard.

Two drinks later, Darcy pulled Sif up to the stage, pointing out the binder full of karaoke choices. Sif eyed the options with more gravity than someone who had consumed that many alcoholic beverages should be able to. Maybe it took more to lower an Asgardian's guard. “Yesssss, this one!” Darcy shouted, spotting an entry that read: Jett—I Love Rock 'N' Roll.

“Perhaps another time?” Sif proposed.

Darcy pouted. “Afraid?” she taunted, poking Sif in the chest. “I wouldn't have tooken you for a coward. Or taken even.” Okay so maybe she was a little more drunk than she thought.

Sif gently lifted Darcy's hand off of her chest, holding it in front of her. “I would take affront at your implication that I am a coward but I know that you did not mean it,” she said. “However I do not think it wise that I draw even more attention to myself than I already have.”  
She gestured down at her outfit. “I do not believe that such clothing is customary attire. Perhaps we could retire to your chambers for a moment if you have more appropriate attire that I can borrow.”

“Chambers...right,” Darcy said. She dug around in her pockets for her room's keycard and waved it in front of Sif. “Room 304.” She led Sif out of the bar and to her room without incident. Seeing one of her bras lying on the floor suddenly reminded her of how haphazardly she had shed her clothes earlier. “Sorry for the mess,” she said, aiming a kick at the bra in an effort to shove it under the bed, but instead sending it soaring to join her shirt on top of the lamp. Not even bothering to fetch it, she flopped onto the bed. “And sorry I haven't been a better...ambassador of Midgardian culture or whatever.”

“Well it would have been rude to call on Heimdall again so soon,” Sif told her. “He's not some mere servant at our beck and call. And I cannot say that the entire visit has been a waste. I have learned some interesting facts.” She strolled across the room and picked up the errant lingerie. “Such as the fact that scarlet does seem to be your color.”

Darcy had just enough self-control left to not blurt out 'And what's yours?' If she was reading Sif right and it wasn't just the booze talking, her night wasn't over just yet. Sif's attempt at deadpan humor held a note of interest, though Darcy wasn't sure where she was going with it. Was it harmless banter between friends, or a gateway to something more physical? She squirmed at the thought of Sif's toned arms wrapping around her waist and sliding down towards—“No,” she muttered. One step at a time. It wouldn't do to get lost in a fantasy and ignore the matter at hand. Mmm...hands. “Dammit,” she muttered again. “Get it together Darcy.”

“Come again?” Sif asked, straining to hear the words that Darcy was unaware she had spoken aloud.

Sif's innocent comment set off another delightfully graphic montage in her head. Darcy stood up abruptly, swaying slightly with dizziness at the sudden change. She needed a distraction. A different distraction. “I'm going to get myself a glass of water,” she told Sif. “Don't want a killer hangover tomorrow after all. Or today if it's tomorrow already. Can I get you one?”

“I suppose that I could use one,” Sif replied, reading the hotel's information guide in a thorough exploration of the perfectly average hotel suite.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Darcy said, sensing a slight air of unease as Sif didn't seem to know what to do with herself. She fetched two plastic cups from the bathroom and filled them with tap water. The mini-fridge did have a couple of bottles of water, but she thought that it was ridiculous to pay for something that was basically tap water anyway, even if she wasn't technically the one paying. While in the bathroom she splashed some water on her face, both as encouragement to sober up a bit and in an attempt to focus. When she came back out Sif had settled into an armchair, her boots neatly lying on the floor nearby. “I don't mean to sound culturally insensitive or anything,” Darcy said as she handed Sif some water, “But do you guys wear that kind of stuff all the time? I mean it can't be that comfortable.”

“I do not wear my armor all of the time,” Sif explained, “Though it is appropriate dress for a warrior in many situations, regardless of whether battle is imminent.”

“A uniform of sorts then,” Darcy said with a nod. “Makes sense. Well don't feel bad about being out of uniform if it's more comfortable. I won't tell Odin on you, and I doubt that aliens are chomping at the bit to attack this place.”

Sif said nothing but fixed Darcy with an inquisitive gaze. Darcy felt herself start to squirm as the silence stretched on, flustered but not unsettled. It was not the gaze of someone who saw her as an object of judgment but rather of someone who saw her as an equally curious being worthy of investigation. She could count on one hand, and possibly on one finger, the number of people in her life that had ever had the time or inclination to do so.

“No, I don't suppose you would be,” Sif murmured.

Before Darcy could ask exactly what she would or wouldn't be, Sif deftly began to unbuckle her armor. Putting Darcy's organizational skills to shame, she had her gear laid out neatly and ready to be reassembled at a moment's notice in less time than it took Darcy to fully realize that it left her wearing little more than a functional yet decorative set of undergarments.  
Darcy shrugged, willing her body to display nonchalance despite her libido roaring back to attention. “Nothing I haven't seen before.” She gestured towards the lamp. “You've seen mine already so I guess that it's only fair that you show me yours.” At some point during that comment her fingers had started tapping on the wooden bed frame, echoing the ridiculous flutter in her chest. Really, this was hardly the first time that she'd seen an attractive woman in next to nothing. It wasn't even the second. Or the third come to think of it, considering that some women at the gym wore less than what Sif was wearing. No big deal. Her finger was most assuredly not twitching at the prospect of tracing the defined edges of Sif's abs.

“Well I thank you for your understanding,” Sif said, looking irritatingly at ease with her relative lack of clothing. “It is far from an unbearable burden, but it is nice to unwind on occasion.”

“Are we still talking about the armor stuff here?” Darcy asked, her hands splayed in a gesture of helpless confusion. “Because I'll admit that you've got me at a bit of a mental disadvantage. I've been stuck doing boring-ass conference stuff all day and, at the risk of sounding like a total lush, I started drinking long before you showed up.” She bent down to unzip her boots, anxious for something to do with her hands. “Though while we're on the subject of comfortable, these are coming off right now. Not even standing up and my feet are still barking.” She easily slid one boot off, but fumbled with the zipper and struggled at pulling off the other.

“May I be of assistance?” Sif offered, reaching down to help her.

Darcy gulped as Sif's fingers ran over the leather boot to remove it, placing it neatly next to the other one. There was no fucking way that little lingering touch at the end was an accident, and Sif was far too chivalrous to be intentionally torturous. Maybe she was just as uncertain as Darcy about how to cross the line between “sort of friends” and “consenting adults enjoying the moment because the whole cross-realms thing tends to put kind of a damper on relationships.” Thor and Jane weren't the best role models in that regard. Darcy fell back on the bed with a distressed groan. All this timid tiptoeing around shit had to end, one way or another.

Sif instantly scrambled over to sit on the edge of the bed, peering down at Darcy. “Are you alright?” she asked, her eyes frantically looking over Darcy in an effort to root out the problem.

Darcy sighed and sat back up. Someone had to bite the bullet and say what they were really thinking, and it was looking like she was the prime candidate. “I'm fine,” she said. She took one more deep breath and continued, “But are we really not going to mention the bilgesnipe in the room?”

“Bilgesnipe?” Sif echoed, looking around the room. “I see no bilgesnipe here. Thankfully.”

Darcy waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. It's a phrase. Well it's really 'elephant in the room' but I was trying to make it relate more. Guess I failed. What I mean to say is I'm tired of trying to think up stupid lines like, 'gee, I wonder if there's any difference between Asgardian and Midgardian anatomy' just to come up with a reasonable excuse. I'm not usually the timid one and it's about fucking time to admit what we both want. At first I thought that I might be reading too much into it because I can't go five minutes without thinking about shoving your hand down my jeans and—”

Sif lips drowned out the rest of her sentence, not breaking their contact with Darcy's even as the pair fell back against the pillows. Darcy let her words melt into the kiss, eagerly matching Sif's movements once she got over the brief shock of realizing that it was actually happening. As much as she'd thought about it for hours, the touch of Sif's lips on hers set off a spark of voracious desire that she was hellbent on quenching. She trailed her hands down Sif's side, coming to rest on her waist. Her tongue slipped into Sif's mouth with a groan, tasting the faint remnants of hops.

Darcy frowned when she realized that Sif had pulled away. Propping herself up on her elbows she peered up at Sif, looking for an explanation.

“Would you really have used that line?” Sif asked, pulling on the leather strap holding up her ponytail to let her hair flow free.

“All in the name of science,” Darcy offered lamely. Of all the things that Sif could have picked up on in her rant it had to be that one. “But enough talking.”

“As you wish,” Sif said, reaching down to Darcy. “I believe you said something about your jeans?”

********

Sif's hair was splayed out on the pillow, drifting to and fro across its surface with each breath. Darcy smiled at Sif's sleeping form. It was a unique kind of experience to witness the vulnerability, even if it was only physical, of someone normally so fierce and active. Darcy smirked, thinking of her role in what had taken place just a few hours ago. Not that either of them had really stood a chance at staying awake after that amount of exertion. She flexed both arms, remembering with pride how she had flipped Sif over and pinned her to the bed. It wasn't every day that one got the upper hand on an expert warrior. Sif had certainly enjoyed the change of pace if her throaty growl had been any indication.

Drowsy mumbles drew Darcy's attention back to the present. “Hey there,” she called softly as Sif started to waken.

“Good morning,” Sif replied as she sat up and stretched, rising to full alertness in moments.

“Hmph,” Darcy muttered, still shaking off sleep despite the cup of mediocre hotel room coffee that she had already consumed. “Sexy, and a morning person. That is so unfair.”

“I am afraid that the latter is a habit borne of training,” Sif explained. “The former I suppose would be in the eye of the beholder.”

“Well at the risk of sounding crass, the eyes of this beholder like what they see,” Darcy responded. The sheet had fallen down to Sif's lap, revealing every inch of well-toned torso that Darcy's eyes, fingers, and lips had gotten to know the previous evening. Darcy was sorely tempted to refresh her knowledge, but one glance at the clock told her that she really had to clean up and pack if she wanted any hope of making her flight out. She sighed and forced herself away from the warmth of her bed and her bed-mate. “I hate to rush things,” she told Sif, “But if I'm late for another flight Jane might actually kill me.”

“I assume do you not mean that literally,” Sif said, her tone trailing upwards in a half-question.

“Not literally literally,” Darcy explained, balling up her dirty clothes and throwing them in her suitcase. “Figuratively literally.” She left her one clean outfit out, figuring that if she was going to have to do laundry when she returned that she might as well not go through the effort of folding. “You might have noticed that I'm not the neatest person imaginable, but I do try to be professional when it's job-related. I don't want to let her down. Or anyone else for that matter.”

“If Dr. Foster does not realize what a quality employee, and dare I say friend, she has in you then that is her loss,” Sif stated firmly, her hands on her hips in what would have been a threatening pose if she had been wearing anything. “Though I do not think she is so foolish.”

Darcy hid her blushing smile at Sif's glowing endorsement behind her laptop, neatly packing it away. Some things required caution after all. “You're just saying that because I showed you that ice trick.” She waggled her eyebrows at Sif and ducked into the bathroom to retrieve her toiletries. Whoever had started the trend of putting an ice bucket in every hotel room had undoubtedly envisioned a different use, but a towel-clad dash to the ice machine had shown just how versatile common hotel objects could be.

“Hmm, yes that was a revelation,” Sif said slowly, as if savoring the memory. Darcy heard the sound of feet hitting the floor a Sif got up. “Though I would hope that Dr. Foster does not value your knowledge in that regard.”

“Jealous?” teased Darcy, her head darting out of the doorway to wink at Sif, who was in the process of getting dressed.

“Far be it from me to determine your partners,” Sif replied, “But I would not stand so idly by and let Thor be toyed with, nor do I believe that you would actually do any such thing.”

“About that,” Darcy said, coming out of the bathroom. She stopped talking to consider the best way to phrase what she wanted to say. Awkward mornings after with people that you might run into on a frequent basis were one thing, but this morning after was awkward in an entirely new way. Neither of them could expect a relationship, but never talking again didn't seem feasible either, particularly given S.H.I.E.L.D.'s increasing involvement in both of their lives. Before she could think of something to say she caught sight of how quickly Sif had redressed, and how second nature wearing her armor seemed to be, and began to feel suspicious.. “You're just as comfortable in your armor as out of it, aren't you?” she pried, sensing that Sif hadn't been entirely truthful the night before.

“A lady never tells,” Sif replied primly.

Darcy could have sworn that she caught a gleam of wickedness flash across Sif's face before her expression evened out. Whatever her excuse had been, it sure as hell was worth it in the end. With that mystery solved Darcy turned back to the question of how to proceed. She didn't expect any great declarations of love (nor would she make one) but she had to figure out where they stood. She exhaled and settled for the straightforward question. “What now?”

“I must return to Asgard,” Sif stated, though her voice sounded like it held the slightest tinge of sadness. “My memories will serve to warm me by the fire.”

A thrill ran through Darcy as she finished getting dressed. It wasn't often that someone as good as said that you were going to be a part of their masturbatory fantasies, assuming that 'warm me by the fire' didn't mean just that. “Well,” she told Sif, “If you need something a little warmer than fire or memories, don't hold back on my account.” She shrugged and grinned. “Just because I've heard you scream my name as you rode my hand doesn't mean that I can't face you with a straight face if S.H.I.E.L.D. calls,” she deadpanned, proving her point. She checked the room once more to make sure that she wasn't forgetting something and gathered her bags.

“I could do no less than wish you the same,” Sif acknowledged, fighting a blush at Darcy's recall. “Though perhaps the future has more in store.”

“Maybe you could teach me how you do that thing with your tongue,” Darcy said, leading the way out of the room. “I don't know how you were twisting it, but god it felt good.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Sif replied with a satisfied smile.

“That's the idea,” Darcy said, shutting the door behind her. “That's the idea.”


End file.
